Page 86 of One More Chance
“Does Charlie really scare you?” she asked.
The question, sharp and serrated, sawed through my ribs, twisted my heart in barbed wire. I jerked away, face hot, stomach sick.
I was afraid of Charlie because of what he represented. What I could lose her to if I wasn't careful.
I exhaled a slow and shaky breath. The truth ached in my chest. “I will not lie to you, Sloane. I am afraid to lose you. Terrified of losing you.”
She pressed her lips together, and I felt a pang of longing. I wanted to kiss her. Bite her bottom lip. Suck until she gasped my name. I wanted her to feel how much I meant every word.
“I know you, Levi,” she whispered. "I know you like I know myself. Or at least, I thought I did until you fucked everything up." There was no accusation in her voice, just the quiet certainty that came from years of scars and secrets.
I chuckled under my breath, heeding her tone and knowing she meant no harm. “That you do. As I know you, Sloane… and I can tell by how hard your nipples are, talking isn't what you want to do right now.”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop with the jokes. We’re having a serious conversation.”
“Yeah,” I said with a heavy breath, “it’s just hard to be serious when all I can think of is how badly I want to taste you right now.”
Her breath hitched, barely, but I caught it. That little tremble. That tiny falter in her resolve. The thought of my tongue working at her was under her skin.
“Sloane,” I said, my voice low, “can we not talk about another man right now? Not when you’re right here, looking like sin itself, and I’m starving for you.”
She arched an eyebrow, a challenge simmering in her gaze. “What are you suggesting?” she asked.
I leaned in, brushing my lips along her jaw. “I’m saying… you could sit on my face and let me remind you what it feels like to be worshipped.”
Her lips parted in shock then amusement. I smirked.
“Or,” I whispered, “you could open that pretty mouth and let me forget everything else for a while.”
Her breath caught again, this time sharper. I felt the heat building between us, undeniable and raw.
But I didn’t move in yet. I waited.
Let her come to me. Let her choose.
Time crawled tortuously while she contemplated her next action. I waited, ever patient. Slowly, her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip.
She moved forward without a word, her hand trailing down my chest, over the firm lines of my stomach, until her fingers brushed the waistband of my sweatpants. Her touch was tentative at first, like testing a bridge that had once collapsed. I didn’t rush her. I didn’t dare breathe.
Her fingers dipped beneath the band.
I swallowed hard, my eyes locked on her, burning with the quiet plea I couldn’t voice:Let me be enough for you again.
She leaned in, close enough for her breath to warm my jaw. “Don’t you dare move,” she whispered in the low and sultry tone she knew shattered me. She was in control, then. Completely.
Her fingers undid my fly with practiced ease, like muscle memory, like she hadn’t forgotten.
She pulled my pants down and wrapped her hands around my hard cock. And then she sank to her knees.
Good fucking god.
I gripped the edge of the couch as she looked up at me, her lashes fluttering like velvet against her cheeks, lips inches away from the part of me that throbbed in her presence.
“Still think denial is funny?” she whispered, teasing. But there was something else there; something darker. Need? Power?
“No,” I choked out. “Not anymore.”
Her mouth brushed the tip of my head, a feather-light kiss, and I shuddered.
